


untitled

by extremelyquestionable (TechnicalTragedy)



Category: The Derp Crew (Youtube RPF)
Genre: Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalTragedy/pseuds/extremelyquestionable





	untitled

Steven’s fingers are curled into his hair, pulling tight so it hurts. His breath is choppy, shaky, and he swallows hard, clenching his teeth as hard as he can and listening to them creak. It isn’t anger, it isn’t sadness, it damn sure isn’t joviality, not like the sounds of celebration he can hear on the other side of the door. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can only feel the overpowering hopelessness in his chest.

There’s a thud against the door, then another, and then it’s opening and Anthony’s head is poking through the doorway. He catches sight of Steven and smiles, but it’s gone near-instantaneously when he sees how distressed his best friend looks. He slips inside and shuts the door behind him, locking it without looking and crossing over to Steven, hands twitching like he wants to touch but isn’t sure if he should.

"Steven?" Anthony asks softy, worried, hand inching towards his friend.

Steven lets out a ragged gasp and pushes his chin into his chest, digging his fingernails into his scalp to hold his head down. He draws his knees up, trying to hide his face. He doesn’t respond otherwise, and Anthony’s worry increases exponentially.

"What’s wrong?" Anthony asks, and once again Steven doesn’t reply except to make a small, pained sound. Finally, Anthony touches him, just a brush of his fingers to Steven’s shoulder.

Steven doesn’t want Anthony to touch him, doesn’t want anyone to touch him or hear him or look at him but Anthony’s touching him again and don’t fucking touch me Anthony don’t you fucking lay a finger on me. He realizes he’d said this out loud after the fact but he can’t bring himself to care. He curls in on himself further, his breath coming quicker now, and he feels panicky and afraid and he’s choking but it’s all inside, it’s all in his head but it feels so real.

Anthony has no clue what to do. Steven just basically growled at him, so physical comfort is out of the question, but he has no idea what else he could possibly do to help his friend out like he so desperately wants to. He stands there awkwardly, and then does the only thing he can even think to do, and sits down a few feet from Steven, not looking at him, and talks.

"When I was fifteen I asked a girl out for the first time. She laughed in my face but told me I was cute for asking. I fell off my bike when I was seven and cried for three hours. My mother’s cooking was terrible so she made me alphabet soup and spelled out ‘sorry about your knee’ and I still don’t know how she managed that. I let my first girlfriend paint my nails and do my makeup and a week later she broke up with me because she couldn’t stop seeing me as a girl. When I was seventeen I drank a whole bottle of Sriracha and threw up on our couch. As a toddler I hates wearing clothes and ran around the house naked a majority of the time," he goes on and on, babbling about everything and nothing and once he can’t think of any other stories, he moves onto talking about his favorite video games and books he’d read and anything else he could think of.

Anthony might talk for hours, or it might be less than one, but eventually Steven’s head winds up in his lap. Steven likes the way his friend’s fingers feel running through his hair and he feels horrible for having snapped at him like he did. Anthony talks and talks, his motor mouth finally coming to good use, until he has nothing more to say. They don’t check the time, but the party is quieter now.

"You wanna talk about it?" Anthony finally asks, his voice raw from all the speaking he’s been doing.

"I’m sorry," Steven says, and Anthony thinks that’s answer enough for him.

The silence that fills the room isn’t tense or angry, and Anthony’s fingers continue to pet through Steven’s soft hair like it’s something he’s intimately familiar with. Anthony’s legs are stretched out in front of him and Steven’s head is pillowed on his lap, and they’re comfortable.

"There are-" Steven starts, then stops abruptly. Anthony doesn’t push, just keeps his head tilted back and his eyes closed until Steven continues, "gaps, and sometimes it can be hard for me to, to, to keep in touch with reality," as if he’d never stopped. "I…can’t remember why I was freaking out. It happens. Remembering usually doesn’t. I’m sorry you had to-" another stop, this one longer, "deal. With that. Me."

Anthony doesn’t say anything, and Steven doesn’t expect him to. They sit in their little bubble of silence and comfort, Anthony’s fingers in Steven’s hair, and say nothing until much, much later, when sunlight streams through the windows and the house is quiet, too.

"I think it’s time to go home," Steven says, and allows Anthony to help him to his feet, not protesting the continued grip on his hand.

With their hands joined, the sun shining, and Anthony smiling down at him, Steven feels a sense of peace that he’s been missing for a long, long time.


End file.
